


OSS #13 Summer School AU

by somewhereelse



Series: bee-eye-en-gee-oh [13]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/M, Minor Roy Harper/Thea Queen, Olicity Summer Sizzle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-09 04:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: AU. Oliver takes on his greatest teaching challenge yet: not making a fool of himself in front of guidance counselor Felicity Smoak. Uh, he means teaching geography to a summer school class of misfits lead by none other than his sister’s pain-in-the-ass boyfriend. AKA, theworstsummer of Oliver Queen’s overprivileged life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Putting this out into the universe to see if I can manage to start writing again.

Oliver thought he knew what a headache feels like. After all, he spent most of his twenties drunk and stumbling out of clubs. He’s very familiar with the worst of hangovers, defeated only by an excess of sleep and a healthy dose of Raisa’s cooking.

But this?

This shit makes him long for the days of paying homage to the porcelain god.

Right now, he’s staring down a ragtag group of pimply-faced teenagers, very similar to the one he’d been and nothing like the ones shown on TV. Ringleader of this particular circus is the punk ass Thea brought home a few months ago as her “boyfriend” and who has barely left his sister’s side since. Roy’s co-conspirator in the mess is an actual punk, Cindy, or Sin as she absolutely insists on being called.

Here’s the thing. Summer school is usually the domain of the desperate. Teachers need to pad their meager income from the regular school year, slackers have to atone for earlier mistakes, and overachievers sprint toward college credits.

Oliver, who shouldn’t be a teacher by all existing logic in the world in the first place, should also not be here.

He’s still loaded, still living off his trust fund, still being an overprivileged jerk by reason of existence according to his fellow teachers, who do genuinely like and respect him apart from the whole coveting his financial security thing. There’s no good reason why he’s signed up for two more months of dealing with apathetic, moody teenagers who are allegedly the future. Except he catches a flash of a blonde ponytail swinging by the small slot window of his classroom door and he remembers.

More accurately, he feels, too late, the dopey ass grin stretching across his face at the same time his finely attuned teacher’s ears pick up the suddenly interested murmurings of his classroom.

“Shut it,” he warns them, completely ineffectively.

“Ooooh!” comes a high-pitched drawl from the back of the classroom.

There are a number of possible suspects, and Oliver does not even want to try to narrow the field. Instead, he (unwisely) puts his back to them to continue writing on the whiteboard. That’s how he entirely misses the identity of the person knocking on his door, Sin calling out a quick “Come in!” before he even has the chance to turn his head.

“Hello 2B!” is Felicity’s sunny greeting using the number of the temporary, mobile-home-esque classroom they’ve been relegated to while the district does a half-assed job of repairing the main building.

“Hey, Ms. Smoak.”

Oliver grumbles if only because his class has never had the actual manners to treat him to a polite greeting.

“Oliver,” she prompts, and he has no choice but to look into the sun itself, “I’m just reminding everyone about the fire drill next hour.”

Nodding mutely, he feels the marker slip a little in his suddenly sweaty hand and he drops it to the desk. “Tha—Thank you, Felicity. We’ll see you in the parking lot.”

Felicity doesn’t seem to notice his stuttering but bobs her head in agreement and sends the class another smile before ducking back out.

Oliver feels his entire body sag a little in relief to no longer be in her direct presence. Then he snaps to attention when Roy fake-coughs a loud, “Choke!” Despite the glare he levels at the teenaged jackass, Oliver can’t help but agree.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit. Thanks, y’all.

“Get the fu— Get back here!”

Oliver practically roars the command as Rene Ramirez goes tearing across the parking lot like he’s actually on fire. He can feel the judgmental stares of the other teachers who have their classes calmly standing in various groups across the blacktop. The vein in his forehead twitches, and Oliver worries he’s sweating through his white dress shirt during this unconscionably hot summer for the Pacific Northwest, when Rene finally makes his way back over, shit-eating grin firmly in place.

“Sorry, teach,” he sounds the exact opposite of remorseful, “I just figure with all that drool, you could actually put out a fire.”

Oliver just glowers and stops himself from shoving Rene back into line with his snickering friends. Yeah, he knows what the knucklehead is talking about.

After all, it _is_ an unconscionably hot summer day, and they are stuck on a seemingly endless desert of black asphalt and practically baking while waiting for the fire department to finish deactivating the alarm system. Oliver’s rolled his sleeves up, which is the best he can do under the circumstances, and others are not so subtly fanning themselves and occasionally peeling away sticky, sweaty clothing. The teachers are turning a blind eye to the girls who’ve shed layers down to tank tops, which theoretically violates the (dumb, outdated) dress code.

Felicity, as technically one of the few administrators, has been running around collecting attendance sheets and otherwise managing the chaos. She’s also cast aside her usual blazer somewhere and is down to her sleeveless bright pink blouse.

So, yes, Oliver’s jaw might be a little... slack at the moment, but he’s not _drooling_.

And maybe he’s been inattentive to the hooligans he calls students, but that’s no excuse for whatever spectacle Rene just put on. Before he can actually reprimand the idiot, his students straighten up and snap into a neat line, pasting on innocent smiles, and Oliver just knows someone—probably Felicity—is standing right behind him. He feels her touch the crook of his elbow lightly, right where enough of his shirt’s fabric is folded and bunched up so that he can’t feel more than the ghost of her fingertips. Stupid shirt.

“Can I get your attendance sheet?” Felicity mumbles around the pen in her mouth.

Oliver quickly rips it off his clipboard, the column for emergency drills neatly filled in, and hands it over. When their hands brush, he thinks Felicity’s cheeks pink up, but it could just be the heat or a reflection from her shirt. 

“Look at that. Someone did read their emergency protocol. Thanks for filling it out,” Felicity sends him a quick, grateful smile as she marks him off her own clipboard.

He winks. “Just for you.” Sadly, it’s basically the truth. He would have slacked off the admin work if anyone but Felicity had been in charge.

This time, Felicity’s blush is unmistakable, and she tries to wave it off. “Thanks. I swear, everyone else thinks I’ve got nothing better to do after this but fill out their paperwork. Like I don’t have a standing date with Big Belly Burger.”

Oliver’s response is interrupted by a commotion at the front entrance. The firefighters are streaming out of the doors, and coincidentally, the final bell rings. The students grumble about the bad timing of it—being forced to wait around in a frying pan parking lot for nearly an hour, when they could have just left at the start—but when the teachers (jokingly) offer to keep them for a makeup hour, the teenagers scramble to collect their backpacks from the classrooms and flee before that threat can be carried out.

From his classroom door, Oliver spies his sister’s new car pulling into the parking lot. He starts to make his way over for their weekly lunch date, but Roy hustles to the passenger door first. As he’s walking, Roy exchanges words with Thea through the window, yanks the door open, and jumps in. With Oliver just steps away from her car, Thea speeds off, and Roy sticks his head out the window for a smug smirk and his best approximation of a royal wave.

“Did your sister just ditch you for her boyfriend?”

The voice behind him is pretty damn amused, and Oliver can’t blame her. He turns back to Felicity with a wry, disbelieving smile that matches hers.

“Not the first time,” Oliver admits, stepping closer so he’s directly in front of the curb she’s standing on, “Probably not the last.”

Felicity’s heels plus the boost from the curb put her almost at his eye level so he’s treated to the full force of her shy smile. “Does that mean you might be interested in Big Belly for lunch? I just mean... We haven’t really gotten to spend time together lately. For work purposes. Strictly work purposes. Lunch is a thing that coworkers get together without—”

“Yes,” he practically blurts out. The volume makes both of them blush, and Felicity drops her eyes to the red paint of the fire lane. “Uh,” Oliver reaches up to scratch the back of his neck before remembering that his underarms are one giant sweat patch and jerking his hand back down, “I’ll meet you there?”

Felicity smiles a little wider and nods—eagerly he thinks. “I just need to lock up my office.”

“Same,” he replies, “I mean, classroom.” Oliver gestures back to the trailer before dropping his arm back down.

Like they’re not being awkward teenagers about this whole thing, Felicity keeps nodding then noticeably stops herself. “Okay. Uh, see you in a few.”

Oliver watches her walk back toward the admin building because _pencil skirts_. Then he remembers that there are still students milling around, waiting to be picked up, and hightails it for his classroom before he’s caught in the act of ogling a coworker. He does not need to be the reason they’re all subjected to another sexual harassment seminar.

He needs all of five minutes during lunch to remember why he’s developed a fascination with the school’s newest guidance counselor. Felicity’s passionate and invested in the students, determined to improve each of their lives despite knowing that it’s statistically impossible. Oliver can barely recall why he became a teacher, something to do with his first sense of accomplishment stemming from helping Thea with her homework—and every day with the slackers in 2B he forgets a little more.

“_Damn_ the stats,” is her fiery response when he questions her practicality, having been in this environment a few more years by now, and her cheeks flame at the uncharacteristic cursing.

They’ve long finished lunch, only the dregs of a milkshake left on the table, as they talk about the stupidest things just to stay there. They’re both leaning forward in their booths over the peeling laminate table. Felicity’s fingers occasionally tap against his wrist or hands while proving a point. It’s nice and comfortable, but also his heart’s kind of hammering.

It’s only fitting that Thea and Roy choose just then to burst through Big Belly’s entrance, laughing uproariously. Oliver prays, first, that it was just a dumb joke and not any mischief they’re fleeing from and, second, that they somehow miss the pair of them sitting near the back. Obviously, the latter doesn’t stand a chance in hell.

Felicity snaps upright just like him as they quickly draw their hands back to their sides under the table. It’s awkward to sit there, ramrod straight with panicked eyes, but only gets worse when Roy yells across the restaurant, “Oh hey! Mr. Q! Ms. Smoak!”

When he was a teenager, Oliver hated seeing his teachers in public. If he saw one walking down the street, it was kind of like spotting Bigfoot. He gawked, because teachers don’t exist outside of school, and then hid, because if he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him. Why in hell doesn’t Roy have the same survival instinct?

Thea practically sprints over, at the same speed as when she left him in the dust in the parking lot. “Oh, you guys are still here?” she questions innocently, smirk anything but.

“Still?” Oliver repeats. “How did you know where I’d be for lunch when you ditched me?”

“Roy,” Thea shares a wide grin with her boyfriend, “said you and Ms. Smoak had a lunch _date_. That’s why we did our own thing.”

“Oh he did,” Oliver glowers at his student. At least until Felicity kicks him a little under the table. He rolls his eyes but lowers the death glare to stun.

Thea nods eagerly. “Besides it’s not like you called or texted me to come back or meet somewhere.”

No, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Oliver had been too excited by the prospect of sharing a meal with Felicity to give a second thought to his sister’s and her boyfriend’s nefarious and obvious plotting. He doesn’t even have a response to Thea’s retort, but Felicity saves him with a commiserating smile.

“Well, did you two enjoy your afternoon at least?”

Roy pipes up this time. “Yep. Saw a movie”—Oliver exchanges a look with Felicity because have they been talking for the length of a feature film?—”now getting food. You know, kind of your standard _date_ activity. You guys should head to the theater. It’s still matinee pricing.”

And that’s the second—technically third—time, Thea and Roy have insinuated that this is a date. Felicity looks as uncomfortable as Oliver feels so he goes to reprimand the presumptuous idiots but she beats him to the punch.

“I haven’t seen a movie in theaters in forever, and it’s going to stay that way apparently. I actually need to prep more for the Friday assembly.” Felicity shoots him an apologetic look before shuffling out of the booth. Oliver can’t even find a good reason to protest while she’s leaning over to grab her purse.

“I’ll see you there, right, Mr. Harper?”

Thea responds with a stern, “Yes,” at the same time Roy mumbles, “It’s _mandatory_.”

Felicity laughs a little at his reluctance and wiggles her fingers in a goodbye before heading out the door, cool, calm, and collected despite the weirdly pushy teenagers.

When Oliver continues to glare at them in annoyance, they quickly retreat to the line. “Sorry,” Thea mouths for interrupting even though she looks a little elated for having caught them out. 

He’s never going to live this down.


	3. Chapter 3

Oliver’s not expecting the next incident.

The hundred or so students attending summer school are spread out in the front third of the auditorium that seats something like five hundred. Oliver ordered his kids down to the front two rows and gave them no quarter when they bitched about sitting in the front like brownnosers. Felicity’s worked hard on this presentation, and it’s important for their futures.

So important that he’s kind of tuned her out and is grading yesterday’s homework while hunched over at the end of a row.

Hey. He’s already a teacher. He doesn’t need to know about post-secondary education options. Plus, if he gives himself the opportunity to look up, he would just stare and catch hell for it from his class later so he contents himself with Felicity’s soothing voice filling his ears.

What little he’s actually absorbing does make him feel guilty for being inattentive. Felicity’s done her best to integrate traditional four-year colleges with two-year and vocational schools and present them all like the equally valid options they are. Oliver can only hope some of his students are paying some attention as she walks them through everything leading up to the application process.

Research, tours, fees, countless forms; been there, done that. In theory, at least, since Oliver recalled his parents selecting his school (and paying his way in). That celebrity college admissions scandal hit way too close to home.

“What about Mr. Queen?”

His brain registers his name in the unexpected question and the smug drawl that is Sin’s signature tone. Oliver leans forward to confirm her customary smirk from her seat further down his row then glances up to find Felicity’s eyes veering away from him. Her cheeks are red, but that could just be the warm stage lighting.

“What do you mean?” Felicity asks, shifting slightly. Her head keeps glancing off to the left, like she’s turning towards him then remembering not to and looking very far the other way.

“I don’t know if I really believe that you can find something nice to say about _everyone_,” Sin explains, faux skepticism lacing her voice, “So say something nice about Mr. Q. He’s kind of the worst, right? If you can find something nice to say about him, then I’ll believe you.”

Oliver does a mental rewind and checks the slide on the projector screen. Apparently, he really hasn’t been paying attention since Felicity’s onto the document collection phase. Sin’s taken Felicity’s offer to write a recommendation letter for anyone who didn’t feel comfortable asking a teacher as an opportunity to harass her about him. _Typical_.

Felicity barely constrains the eye roll before offering up, “He’s very dedicated.”

“_Boo!_”

The heckling comes from his entire class, and Sin shoots him a barely apologetic glance. “Too generic, _way_ too generic,” she practically clicks her tongue at the guidance counselor, and he feels like reminding her Ms. Smoak is an authority figure and should be shown respect, but that would just make everything worse, “Is that all you got?”

“Fine,” Felicity nearly sighs. She pauses to think a moment, microphone resting against her shoulder, until a small smile appears. “Oliver is a very thoughtful teacher with great instincts. He’s a meticulous lesson planner until he’s not because he’s also excellent at capitalizing on opportunities to better present material in a way that resonates with his students, which is more important than following a plan to the letter. He also lets his students get away with teasing him and calling him the worst when that’s obviously not true. He’s kind of the best.”

By the time Felicity finishes singing his praises, she’s actually making eye contact with him. Her words wash over him, flow through him, and lift his spirits in a way that seems impossible to describe when he’s spent the last twenty minutes correcting worksheets that have China misidentified. Oliver, once he picks his jaw up, flashes her a grateful smile for the kind words and outspoken defense. 

No one’s ever seen him that way before, and he can’t—

Principal Diggle clears his throat, and Felicity jumps a little, severing their connection. She’s definitely blushing when she turns back to a smirking Sin and her band of cohorts who are making all sorts of weird noises—_kissing_, they are making _kissing_ noises, and he’s going to fail them all.

“How was that? Did it meet your standards? Or are you still worried I’ll describe you as “unique, marches to the beat of her own drum, full of potential, very big on self-expression”?” Felicity lobs her own smirk at the eye-rolling punk who’s all too used to the stereotypical comments.

“You split an infinitive, and there was a slight run-on. I assume you’d clean that up editing since speech patterns differ from writing conventions. Still, _Cindy_, I think you see why one of Ms. Smoak’s greatest qualities is her ability to empathize with and relate to people so why don’t we move on with the presentation?”

As always, Diggle’s rebuke is right on the mark and walks that line between gentle reminder and not-actually-a-suggestion. Felicity quickly clicks through to the next slide, Financial Aid, and is met with a chorus of groans. Oliver can’t even focus on what FAFSA actually stands for. He just slides lower in his seat, hoping that the dim lighting in the audience is hiding his blushing face, pleased grin, and bright eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ll see an end shortly, having too much fun with the pining.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, summer school in this AU is two months, split into two one-month sessions, e.g., Oliver could teach geography for the first session to one class of students and world history for the second session to an entirely different class. Classes are four hours long, 8 am to 12 pm, Monday through Friday. Chapters 1 and 2 were Wednesday of Week 2, Chapter 3 was Friday of Week 2, and this chapter starts Monday of Week 3.

The next Monday, Roy approaches his desk slowly, an incredulous and confused expression twisting his face. “Man,” the sigh is heavy as is his eye roll, “I thought you had game.”

Oliver freezes before realizing that Roy must have seen him in the hallway outside after Friday’s assembly. He’d been trying to thank Felicity for her kind and thoughtful words but just ended up tongue-tied, calling her “his girl” and then hastily backtracking. (“Thanks for being my girl up there. Not girl _girl_, but girl. It sounds different in my head. I mean, thanks for having my back.”) Felicity listened to his fumbling with a soft smile until Diggle and a student called her attention away.

Under his breath, Oliver mumbles a deprecating, “So did I.”

Audibly, he clears his throat and asks, “How’d you do it? When you asked out Thea?”

“Oh. Uh,” Roy stammers, his cheeks turning pink. “Actually, she got tired of waiting and asked me. By ask, I mean she told me where to show up and that if I didn’t show, then I blew my only chance.” He looks embarrassed by the admission, hands fidgeting where they’re resting on his backpack straps.

Oliver tames his triumphant grin and instead shoots Roy a meaningful look. “When it’s important, it’s not a game.”

Roy rolls his eyes but shuffles towards his desk when a few classmates stumble into the room. He pauses a step, looking serious for once, and his next words reflect exactly that. “If it’s not a game, then maybe you should do something to show her you’re serious.”

With the other students staring interestedly, Oliver doesn’t make the mistake of reacting to the unsolicited advice. Still, it’s not bad advice for a punk ass teenager with no concept of boundaries or respect. Now if only it were that simple.

* * *

They’re at Big Belly again, for something that’s become a little like a tradition even after just a few days since their first lunch. He tries not to think about how much more he still needs to cover in his class, and how much harder the students are trying to matchmake, during the last week and change of the session. Lunches with Felicity work out to be the perfect distraction because all he can think of is her and how much he likes being around her. Once they push aside the empty glasses and wrappers, Felicity’s leaning forward, smiling and chatting, tapping her fingers against his hands in a Morse code he wishes he understood.

(Oliver also wishes he was brave enough to turn his hand over, capture one of her fluttering digits, and just _hold_ her hand but he’s a coward these days.)

“Teach!”

The pleased exclamation breaks their little bubble, and suddenly Oliver’s glad to be a coward. There’s no telling what Evelyn would have to say, and embellish to the rest of class, if she stumbled upon them holding hands. And that’s assuming Felicity would even _want_ him to hold her hand.

“What are the odds of running into you and Ms. Smoak here?”

“We need a new restaurant,” Oliver whispers to Felicity who nods in agreement even as she looks distraught at the idea of losing out on burgers and shakes.

Loud enough for Evelyn, he retorts, “Why don’t you ask Mr. Holt? I’m not a math teacher.”

“Obviously,” Evelyn grins at them, ignoring the guy, probably a student not in one of his classes, behind the counter trying to flag her down to pick up her order, “or you’d know your calculus.”

Felicity groans, but Oliver raises his eyebrows at his student in confusion.

“Doesn’t Mr. Holt teach statistics?”

Evelyn laughs outright this time and turns to the counter. Over her shoulder, she tosses out, “Maybe _you_ should tell him what his calculus says, Ms. Smoak.”

“It’s a song reference,” Felicity offers, blushing, once Evelyn has vacated the restaurant. “Pretty damn obscure actually for these kids. Like I was barely old enough to see it on MTV as a preteen. Which kind of means it was perfect timing for you.”

Too late, Oliver remembers the satirical, manufactured boy band and their “hit” song and groans just like Felicity did. Still, he can’t help but tease her a little, “Remind me what my calculus says?”

Felicity blushes harder but doesn’t take her eyes off his as she says softly, “You plus me equals us.”

He might be having a heart attack in a Big Belly, and not from their food.

* * *

Oliver stares at Rene with more than a little confusion but a hell of a lot of pride. He broke up the class into the various districts of Star City and asked them to formulate a political strategy, acknowledging the strengths and weaknesses of each district, as if they were going to run for office. After all, modern geography is a direct result of politics.

He didn’t have high hopes for the apathetic bunch—and even lower hopes for the nightmare grouping of Roy, Sin, Rene, and Evelyn—but he had to work in some sort of activity to break up the monotony of a four-hour class and take off some pressure for the upcoming final.

The last thing Oliver expected was for Rene Ramirez to speak eloquently and passionately about the plight of the Glades and outline workshops and pilot programs to try and lift the dilapidated area. In fact, Rene is giving Oliver ideas about mentioning this heretofore unknown interest to Felicity. With her big push for alternate career development opportunities, maybe there’s a way to get Rene into City Hall as an intern or volunteer. And at least it would be another reason to see Felicity.

He shakes himself free of the daydreaming to add to the applause Rene is receiving after he wraps up. Usually the students can barely muster up a fake, polite clap, but it’s definitely a lot more noise than that. As he slinks back to his seat, Rene ducks his head in embarrassment, proud smile fighting its way through his unaffected exterior.

Yeah, this definitely warrants a mention to their bleeding heart guidance counselor.

* * *

Felicity is stonewalled at City Hall. Something about not wanting to waste resources on training idiots who might not even be old enough to vote and who will definitely steal the office supplies. Oliver’s offended on her behalf and just the principle of the matter, because that assessment is definitely true for over half his class.

But she’s almost on the verge of crying into her milkshake, talking about how the lack of opportunity just perpetuates the cycle of poverty and how can any of these kids even hope for a better future when every door is slammed in their faces.

So Oliver does what Oliver Queen does best. 

He gets his father to arrange a meeting with the aldermen in his pocket.

To really make his point, he shows up to the meeting, not as beleaguered, underpaid, consistently-harassed-by-his-ungrateful-students teacher “Mr. Q”, but as Oliver _fucking_ Queen, heir to the Queen fortune and son of the most successful family in the city. Oliver barely recognizes himself as he charms and persuades the aldermen to establish an ongoing internship position for the high school. After all, a pipeline to get young people interested and involved in local government is a sound investment for the future, and a concerted effort to reach out to the struggling neighborhoods will increase their approval ratings.

After a round of fake smiles and limp handshakes, Oliver is only too glad to ditch the suit jacket and meet Felicity for an atypical weekend lunch at Big Belly.

“Thanks for this,” she smiles at the milkshake, “It was kind of a bummer end to the week. And I didn’t have anything to look forward to this weekend except for my Netflix list.”

“No problem,” Oliver chokes, wondering how he’s going to tell Felicity that he went over her head in a move that, he’s just now realizing from the outside, might look like he doesn’t believe she’s capable of doing her job.

“Is something wrong?” 

She immediately picks up on his distress, and he shakes his head too aggressively in denial. Then Felicity’s hand is on his clenched fist, then she’s unfolding his tight grip, then she’s holding his hand. Oh god, she’s _holding his hand. _

“Oliver,” it’s her firm, cut-the-bullshit voice, “something is clearly wrong. We never meet up on weekends. I’m not saying it’s not nice to see you, I love spending time with you, but it’s definitely out of the ordinary. Now you’re sitting here, you haven’t touched your food, you’re sweating bullets... How can I help?”

His brain is firing on all cylinders, but Oliver can’t really think past two things. First, Felicity is still holding his hand. She’s doing the very thing he’s been trying to work up the courage to do for months, and it’s making his throat tight. Second, she just said that she loves spending time with him, and _that’s_ making his heart race. All in all, Oliver might be having another heart attack at Big Belly for the second time in as many weeks.

He finally unclogs his throat enough to ask, “You love spending time with me?”

Felicity’s eyes widen, and she almost pulls her hand back except now that Oliver’s felt it in his, he might never let go again. Obviously, she didn’t mean to say that out loud but she could still mean it. Her eyes finally lift from their panicked stare at the table, and she treats him to the shyest smile.

“You’re my favorite person at the school.”

“Rene got the internship,” Oliver blurts, because Felicity is being so brave right now, holding his hand and admitting that she likes him, and he can at least do this for her and suffer the consequences if she decides his overbearing self is no longer her favorite.

“What?” Felicity’s shocked. She almost smiles, but it gives way to confusion. “I mean, how? John set up that meeting, but they wouldn’t even entertain—”

“I went over your head,” he admits, not even trying to sugarcoat it, and then grimaces, “and under the table. That’s why I didn’t want you involved. My dad arranged a meeting with his aldermen friends, but I’m the one who went and talked to them. I guess we’ll never know if I actually convinced them or if they just agreed because Dad threatened or bribed them into it, but they’re setting up an internship position for the fall semester. And, uh, every semester going forward. Oh god, Dad definitely threatened them.”

“Are you serious?” Felicity asks, and he’s not really sure which part she’s talking about.

Her hand’s gone cold in his, and he’s sure it’s no longer appropriate to be holding her hand but he still can’t make himself let go.

“About my dad?”

“No,” she shakes her head, a smile slowly growing, “I mean, yes but later. About the internship for Rene? And going forward?”

Oliver nods jerkily. “That’s what they said. You should get an email with the paperwork on Monday. It’s why I wanted to tell you today.”

Felicity laughs, pleased and incredulous. “That’s amazing.”

“You’re not mad?” Oliver presses to be sure.

“I mean, I’m not psyched about the how, but, you know, the world’s gray anyway. And these kids have the deck stacked against them so much already, so if they get, like, one unfair advantage out of a million... How is that the absolute worse thing in the world? Think about the _good_ that could come from it. I just— Thank you, Oliver. Rene’s not the safest bet, we both know it, and you didn’t have to go out on a limb like that so just thank you.”

Felicity laughs again, clearly giddy from the emotional swings of the week, and Oliver slumps back in his booth, relieved that she’s taken it so well. Thankfully, his long arms mean they’re still holding hands.

After a moment of content silence, Felicity looks at him purposefully. Her admission is quiet but sure. “I’m so happy I could kiss you right now.”

Oliver’s nodding and leaning forward before he realizes it. “Yes, please.”

Felicity grins, muttering a teasing “_So_ polite,” as she leans forward to meet him. When lips are a hairsbreadth away and all Oliver can see is bright blue eyes, feedback screeches from the rarely used loudspeaker system. They jolt apart in confusion, checking in first with each other before looking around the restaurant to find the reason for the noise and instead finding most of his class.

“_No!_” they protest in frustrated chorus, “Go back!”

Evelyn is punching the shoulder of the guy behind the counter and yelling, “Too soon! Too soon!” The reason for the feedback and her annoyance becomes clear when the opening notes of a 2000 boy band “classic” play over the tinny speakers.

Oliver groans when he recognizes the song, having looked it up again after the encounter with Evelyn, but Felicity laughs. “I mean,” she bites her lip to stifle her laughter, and it makes it hard for him to concentrate on her next words, “I guess it’s kind of our song now?”

His eyes light up when he processes the concept. “_Our_ song?”

“Yes!” It’s Sin’s impatient voice answering from very close range, and Oliver looks over his shoulder to find her standing on the booth right behind him. “Now kiss already so we can play it at your wedding.” 

He exchanges a look with Felicity, knowing they’re about to disappoint a bunch of hormonal teenagers with overactive imaginations. “Get out of here,” he orders, raising his free hand to point to the door, “before I flunk all of you.”

To his satisfaction, the manager appears to wrangle the dining room into some semblance of order and kicks out anyone who isn’t a paying customer. Rene’s the last to be shoved out, leaving behind the parting comment, “If you flunk us, you’ll just have to teach us again in the fall.”

Oliver hangs his head with an annoyed grumble, and Felicity lifts him back up with her fingers under his chin a moment later. “I can change their schedules, remember? I’ll make sure you get a little break from them.”

Beaming, he doesn’t have the time for nerves to kick in when he admits, “Forget the school, you’re my favorite person _ever_.”

A millisecond later, too short for anything or anyone to interrupt this time, Felicity is pressing her lips against his. Even though it feels perfectly right, they’re smiling too wide for it to be anything but chaste, and she pecks him once, twice, three times for good measure before dropping back into her seat. Oliver would be happy to just smile at Felicity for a little and then kiss her for a lot, but the sound of tapping breaks the moment.

Simultaneously, their heads swivel towards the window right alongside their booth. They both gape in disbelieving embarrassment when they see Roy, standing back a few feet so he can capture the moment with his phone’s camera, and Thea, posing with an open-mouthed smile and two thumbs up next to Oliver on the other side of the glass.

Turns out Oliver was wrong earlier, about the last time they saw his sister and her boyfriend here. 

He’s never going to live _this_ down.

(But that’s okay because he’s _still_ holding Felicity’s hand and he’s never letting go.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [2ge+her – U + Me = Us (Calculus)](https://youtu.be/pMWxnjgvUQM)
> 
> MTV should have given them a VMA.
> 
> (I didn’t mean to end this on such a silly note but here we are.)


End file.
